


Way of the Samurai

by pyroren



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Edo Period, Japan, M/M, Samurai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyroren/pseuds/pyroren
Summary: At the end of a decade-long journey, Kakashi returns to a place he knows from his childhood: the inn in Konoha village, just outside of Edo. The place seems as idyllic as it has always been, but there is something suspicious about the inn and the residents. Kakashi thinks it might have something to do with the recent unrest brewing amongst Japan's persecuted ronin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta legume :)
> 
> Glossary of Japanese terms in notes at the end of the chapter.

Near Shinagawa, the trees begin to thin out. The packed earth is firmer and imprinted with the trail of countless messenger horses. Kakashi had sent a message ahead of time. The inn owner should be expecting him.

The first buildings at the southern edge of Shinagawa come into sight, dark and squat. Coarse beams of timber hold up tiled roofs baking in the sunlight. The air trembles with heat, but it is still morning. Kakashi has an hour more until the air becomes nearly suffocating.

Kakashi walks through the bustling lodging town, past civilians who avert their eyes and give him a wide berth and horses that kick up clouds of dust. Far ahead, a daimyō’s procession comes towards Kakashi. It’s a poignant sight—it has been years since Kakashi’s last visit to a proper city, and he forgets just how common these processions are. Kakashi stands aside, bumping into a small woman who bows deeply in apology and retreats.

The shouts and drumming of hooves go on and on. Hundreds of samurai guards run ahead of the procession and form a barricade at the sides, keeping civilians out of the way. It must be one of the most powerful daimyō stationed further south. Kakashi clicks his tongue.

He walks away from the procession, turning into a small road heading east of Shinagawa. It is almost midday when he reaches the village of Konoha. Shinagawa’s noise had gradually quietened to a gentle chatter as he walked, and the air in Konoha smells of summer grass and grilled fish. The village is lively but thankfully lacks the mad rush of Shinagawa.

Kakashi ambles to the door of the only inn in the village, kamishimo uncomfortably damp with sweat. The interior is only a little cooler, a light breeze pushing its way in through the opened screens. There is a dining hall to the right of the entrance and a long hallway straight ahead. A man with long brown hair gathered into a ponytail sits listlessly at a table, but the place seems otherwise empty. He jumps from his seat at the sight of Kakashi, glancing quickly at the katana and wakizashi strapped to Kakashi’s belt.

“Welcome” he says, bowing deeply. “Are you Hatake-sama?”

Kakashi nods. “The owner?”

“This way,” the man says, leading Kakashi into the inn. In the confines of the hallway, Kakashi becomes aware of how strongly he stinks of sweat and dust. Kakashi’s hakama was once blue. Now it’s the colour of dirt all the way up to the knees, and he hasn’t had the chance to bathe for days.

“My name is Umino Iruka. I will bring you to your room when you are ready,” the man says as they reach a tatami room and waits outside as Kakashi steps through.

Sarutobi Hiruzen sits cross-legged at a table, writing something on a sheet of paper. He looks up as Kakashi approaches and smiles, eyes crinkling with lines that weren’t there the last time Kakashi was here. Wrinkles, lines, liver spots, and an aged sort of air about him. Different from what Kakashi remembers of the strong, steady figure. But then, the last time Kakashi stayed here, he was about the height of Hiruzen’s waist.

“Hatake-sama,” the Hiruzen says, to Kakashi’s dismay. Then, he adds, “Or, should I say, Kakashi-kun?”

With a laugh, Kakashi eases himself down to sit at the table. It’s just like his childhood. When Sakumo and Kakashi came to visit, they left status at the door. Sakumo was simply a friend to Hiruzen.

“How long are you staying?” Hiruzen asks, putting the brush back in its holder.

“I don’t know,” Kakashi says, “I’m applying for a position in the palace.” Just the thought makes him feel tired.

“That could take a few weeks. Don’t be too optimistic. Jobs are scarce, as I'm sure you know,” Hiruzen says, frowning.

“I heard. I’ve seen more and more rōnin on the road lately, but,” Kakashi shrugs, “what’s the harm in trying?”

He shifts the conversation to the inn, and Hiruzen gladly obliges. They talk about the village, Edo, politics, and Kakashi’s long journey around the country. All across Japan, more and more powerful daimyō are being deposed to keep the shogunate strong and its potential opponents weak. Their samurai now fall into poverty and are given the choice between crushing debt and making a living through crime.

It is much later when Kakashi remembers that he’d left the brown-haired man waiting outside. As he stands, dust puffs out of his hakama, much to his chagrin. Hiruzen waves him off with an amused smile, and Kakashi excuses himself.

The room that Umino Iruka shows him to is smaller than Kakashi remembers. It is on the second floor, with a small window overlooking the street. He sees vestiges of Sakumo everywhere he looks because they used to come here so often.

The air is still humid but it’s cooler now and his sweat has all evaporated. Kakashi wastes no time in shedding his kamishimo in favour of a yukata. The inn has a bath downstairs. After getting the go-ahead from Hiruzen and a bucket of hot water for washing from Iruka, Kakashi finds himself squatting on the tiled floor, naked save for his eyepatch. He soaps, scrubs, and rinses his dirt-caked skin twice before lowering himself into the scalding bath, sighing as the heat burns away his fatigue.

A young woman comes in with a small washcloth held to her stomach and a small bucket of water. She has long black hair tied in a loose bun and a forgotten smudge of white powder on her neck that tells Kakashi she’s a serving girl. When Kakashi was here with his father, the inn’s serving girl was a blonde, big-breasted lady. She was pushing past a saburuko’s prime, but she was beautiful and Kakashi wonders wistfully what happened to her.

Kakashi looks away as the woman scrubs herself and scoots towards the far end of the bath to let the woman in. The bath is hardly big enough for two, but Kakashi is loath to leave. So he leans back and closes his eyes.

The serving girl takes a suspiciously long amount of time to scrub herself.

Sighing, Kakashi debates telling the woman that he has no nefarious intentions. He only wants to soak for a little longer. But that would be creepy, so Kakashi gets up and leaves the blissful heat of the water.

The afternoon sunlight slants into his room through the open window. The air is warm and still. Kakashi sits at the table drowsily, noting where his katana and wakizashi are propped up. Then he lies back on the tatami mat and watches dust motes dance in the light.

Kakashi is pulled from his light sleep when someone clears their throat from outside the washi screens. He sits up.

“Yes?”

The door slides open to reveal Iruka, who freezes in his tracks and stares at Kakashi so intensely that Kakashi glances down, hoping his yukata hasn’t come undone. It hasn’t, but it’s only barely protecting his modesty, wide open above and below where the obi is cinching it tight. Now Kakashi only catches the tail end of what Iruka was saying.

“Sorry?” Kakashi asks, adjusting his yukata. Iruka huffs, annoyed. A blush has stolen into his cheeks, highlighting the horizontal scar that runs across his nose.

“Would you like to have dinner delivered to you, or downstairs, with the other guests?” There is an edge to Iruka’s voice that amuses Kakashi, as if Iruka is annoyed at having lost his composure.

“I’ll go downstairs,” Kakashi says cheerily. He rises to his feet. “What’s for dinner?”

“It’s grilled fish and clams,” Iruka tells him, “fresh from today’s haul.”

 

The sun is still up by the time Kakashi is sitting cross-legged with a steaming bowl of rice in front of him. The dining hall, now bathed in warm colours by the setting sun, contains three other guests. Kakashi had sat at the far end of the long table to discourage conversation, but an obnoxious-looking old man with long, spiky white hair is approaching. Kakashi hopes that ignoring the problem will make it go away.

The man sits right next to Kakashi, one knee propped up. He waves his arm and yells, “Iruka-kun! Sake, please!”

And to Kakashi, he says, “Hey, what’s your deal?”

“What?”

Iruka comes just then with a flask of sake and three stout ceramic cups. He snorts a laugh at Kakashi’s nonplussed expression. Kakashi glares at him.

“Why are you here?” White Hair asks. Iruka kneels at the end of the table, pouring sake into all three cups. Kakashi only shrugs in response. A rich, nutty smell wafts towards Kakashi.

Iruka slides one cup in front of White Hair, one in front of Kakashi, and one across the table from White Hair before taking his leave. Kakashi lifts the cup up to his nose, inhaling the strong aroma and letting it sit in his head. He takes a sip.

The flavour takes a moment to take shape, gently unfurling with the nutty taste of roasted rice with a slight sweetness to it. Kakashi is surprised. He had often wondered what kind of side business Hiruzen partakes in that he can afford to have a bath outside Shinagawa and, now, such expensive sake. Even in Shinagawa, some inns only provide travellers with straw mats to lay out on the clay floor and sleep on.

White Hair hums loudly, eyes closed, slowly swallowing his mouthful of sake.

“Good stuff, isn’t it?” he says, then his eyes snap open. A pale man with hair spilling into his face had entered the inn. He has a large straw bag filled with sealed ceramic flasks that clatter as he moves.

“Orochimaru!” he calls. The man was already walking past them quickly, head down. At White Hair’s call, he stops and turns around with a reluctant expression.

“What,” Orochimaru snaps.

“Let’s drink sake! This nice man bought us sake!” he says, pointing to Kakashi. Kakashi stiffens, mentally counting the number of coins he has left after paying for lodging. Not nearly enough to pay for the two strangers’ sake.

“You made a friend?” Orochimaru says as he saunters over, casting a scornful glance at Kakashi. Kakashi’s hand itches for a blade.

White Hair just laughs. “You don’t remember him?”

Orochimaru scans Kakashi’s face again.

“Oh,” Orochimaru says. “The son of the White Fang. They do look alike.”

And now Kakashi is wracking his brain for any memory of these weird people. He tries to remember all the times he came here with his father-

“Don’t worry if you don’t remember us,” White Hair says, still laughing an obnoxious laugh, “you were about this big.” He holds his hands a baby-sized distance apart. “But the hair… the hair hasn’t changed at all.”

“Heh,” Orochimaru snorts.

Kakashi decides to dig into his meal and ignore the two who had insinuated themselves into his space. The seafood is fresh, like Iruka said. After spending so long inland, Kakashi has almost forgotten the taste of fish that isn’t dried.

Orochimaru and White Hair are arguing about something but Kakashi refuses to listen. He stands up to leave as soon as he finishes his food, pretending that they don’t exist. White Hair gives a booming laugh and Orochimaru just scowls.

“Kids these days,” Orochimaru grouches.

 

On the way to his room, Kakashi hears someone running behind him.

“Hatake-sama,” Iruka calls, panting.

Kakashi turns around, taking in the sight of Iruka, sweaty from the heat of the kitchen.

“Do you want tea in your room?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kakashi says eagerly at the thought of Iruka attending to him…

But it is the serving girl who later comes with a tray bearing tea and snacks, though she is hardly a girl anymore. She is all dressed up now, hair in a traditional chignon and decorated with gold and red hairpins. Her face is white as snow, her cheeks and lips painted red. Kneeling, she slides the door open, shuffles in with the tea and snacks, and closes it behind her.

The woman introduces herself as Shizune with a deep bow, then lays out the snacks on the table and pours the tea. Golden threads in her grey kimono glitter in the darkening room. The skirt is patterned with falling blossoms in pinks and reds. She hands Kakashi his tea with a bowed head.

Shizune is a skilled conversationalist. She is well-versed in politics and they speak of the recent displacement of powerful daimyō. She doesn’t laugh in the tinkling, frivolous way that other saburuko do, and Kakashi likes her because of that. They talk, then Shizune plays the samisen and sings for Kakashi. Then they talk some more.

“Do you know the saburuko who served here before?” Kakashi asks at last.

“It’s only been me for a while. How long ago do you mean?”

“Eh... around twenty years ago?”

“Ah,” Shizune says with a smile. “Yes, it’s Tsunade-sama… she bought herself out to work in the kabuki.”

“In Yoshiwara?” Kakashi asks, masking his shock with a sip of tea. The infamous red-light district in Edo. Kakashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about visiting it.

“Yes, I heard she has kept her youthful complexion despite her age, and her performance is very popular now,” Shizune says with a note of pride in her voice. Kakashi suddenly remembers a serious little girl a couple of years older than Kakashi tagging along wherever Tsunade went.

Kakashi makes a note in his head to find Tsunade. He wants to talk to her about Sakumo. He remembers them talking deep into the night while Kakashi dozes off in a corner, and Kakashi knows that Sakumo respected her tremendously. He wants to know what they always talked about, whether his father liked her romantically, whether she still remembers his father, whether—Kakashi doesn’t really know what he wants to know. He just wants to meet another thread that ties him to the past.

And now Kakashi feels strange about having Shizune in his room as the sun is setting. Saburuko are known to offer extra services in the night but with the history weighing on his mind, Kakashi doesn’t really feel up to it anymore.

Shizune stays until the summer sun sets. She dances until the half-light is sinks to full darkness, then she walks around the pitch-black room with practiced ease and lights up all the oil lamps. Kakashi likes the smell of burning cotton and rapeseed oil. He takes in a deep breath, watching the lights come alive one by one and bounce on the walls. Shizune, with her hair dark and gleaming and her kimono trailing behind her, looks like a beautiful porcelain doll.

And yet, Kakashi doesn’t feel anything but a vague sort of goodwill towards her. Shizune must sense this, because she soon bids him goodnight and gives him a gentle smile before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese terms:
> 
> Kamishimo - traditional Japanese clothing worn by samurai and courtiers, consisting of a hakama (trousers) and kataginu (sleeveless jacket) worn over a kimono.
> 
> Ronin: masterless samurai. Losing a master is generally seen as a disgrace.
> 
> Shinagawa - Edo's main lodging town. Some inns double as official postal checkpoints / post offices. There are several classes of inns catering to people of different social statuses/ wealth.
> 
> Yoshiwara - Edo's red light district where the kabuki theatres and brothels can be found.
> 
> Kabuki - a classical Japanese dance-drama. In the early 17th century (where this fic is set) actresses are often also prostitutes. High-level kabuki actresses are called tayuu.
> 
> Saburuko - serving girls who wander or work in inns to provide entertainment and as prostitutes. Saburuko and tayuu are the predecessors of the more modern geisha.
> 
> The class system in Edo Japan goes like: Samurai, then farmers/peasants, then artisans, and lastly merchants. The rigid class system means that poor samurai are still higher up the social ladder than the rich merchants. But the policies about land ownership/trade/stuff means that aside from the odd intermarriage, it is very difficult for people to move to a different social class. Many ronin resort to crime and so develop a reputation as bandits or thieves.
> 
> Please let me know if anything needs explanation or is inaccurate :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Kakashi rereads the words he’s written so many times that they begin to lose meaning. It is only dawn and sunlight dyes Hiruzen’s tearoom a striking peach, making long, dark shadows behind Kakashi.

Having sat unmoving for the better part of an hour, Kakashi is coming to the realisation that watching ink dry is as boring as… well, watching ink dry. But he sits there anyway, looking at the sheet of paper intently. It’s good enough, he thinks.

But then, as the temperatures climb and the crickets begin to chirp, the misgivings that Kakashi had buried begin to surface. He folds up the paper anyway and stands up. 

His mind, though, is stuck on the way Hiruzen had frowned yesterday upon Kakashi’s request to borrow his stationery. He’d tried to discourage Kakashi again, saying cryptically, “Working in the shogun’s army isn’t all it’s made out to be.”

He bumps into Iruka on the way out.

“Hatake-sama,” Iruka greets, bowing. “It’s quite early.”

“Yeah,” Kakashi says. He rolls his shoulders, then tucks the scroll into his sleeve and falls into step with Iruka. 

“I was just writing a letter,” Kakashi says after a while. But he doesn’t really want to elaborate. He feels a certain inexplicable shame about the whole decision. 

“Is it the application for the shogun?”

Kakashi had forgotten that Iruka was waiting outside the door when he discussed this with Hiruzen. “Yeah,” Kakashi says again. Iruka just nods.

“Would you like breakfast?” Iruka asks. And, oh, they are walking towards the dining hall.

“Yes,” Kakashi says as if that was his intention all along. Then, as Iruka is walking towards the kitchen, Kakashi abruptly remembers something he’s been meaning to say: “You don’t have to speak so formally. Or be so formal.”

“Huh?” Iruka says, turning his head. “Oh. Sure.”

He comes back with a steaming bowl of congee and a grilled mackerel. Kakashi is already seated in what he is beginning to call his spot. Iruka sets the tray down in front of him and says, “I’m going to town today. If you’re going to deliver that letter today, I can show you around.”

Kakashi gets lost far too easily, so he gladly accepts the offer.

As Kakashi digs into the porridge, he reminisces a little. Sakumo had never been a loyalist. It was the war to establish the Tokugawa shogunate that had killed half of the Hatake clan and left newly-orphaned Sakumo to rebuild it from the ground up. It would be logical to assume the company he kept would have the same beliefs.

But young, observant Kakashi also knew that Sakumo dealt in something more dangerous than lukewarm discussions of the shogunate’s various injustices over sake. Sakumo often burnt letters after reading them and wrote his replies in a code that Kakashi couldn’t unlock. He also told Kakashi not to tell anyone about the places that Sakumo went to have clandestine meetings with other secretive people, to which Kakashi rolled his eyes and replied, “Obviously.” Sakumo just put his hand on Kakashi’s small head, laughing. “Don’t grow up too fast.”

The porridge is suddenly difficult to swallow. Kakashi’s feet tap restlessly on the ground. He doesn’t know whether anything ever came out of those meetings. He doesn’t know anything.

 

“I think I’ll send the letter some other time,” Kakashi says later in the morning. Iruka just hums and nods and Kakashi wonders whether he is curious as to why. “Where are you going now?”

“Edo Bay,” Iruka replies, a small frown appearing when his finger slips and the knot unravels. He is crouched at the door, strapping on his straw sandals. “The fishermen are coming in with the first haul soon and the best squid sell out quickly. After that, well, I’m free until evening.”

“Mind if I join you?” Kakashi asks. Iruka pushes himself up to stand. “I don’t really know the area.”

“No,” Iruka shakes his head. “You’re welcome to join me, although the bay gets very crowded this time of the day. I can show you around the centre, if you like?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Edo Bay is pungent with the smell of fish. Birds fly around noisily, and people flow in streams up and down the street. They are at the southernmost village of the eight fishing villages that Kakashi saw on the map, closest to Konoha.

There are many stalls by the docks that peddle identical-looking piles of fish, but Iruka makes a beeline for one manned by a small, prepubescent boy with pretty eyes and a gentle smile. Easily pushing past a crowd, Iruka calls out a greeting.

Kakashi is not sure he can stomach the smell from up close, so he pats Iruka on the shoulder, receiving a surprised look in return, and wanders off. From where he now stands, under the constant assault of fishy smells though he is a safe distance away from any sort of actual fish, Kakashi observes Iruka chat with the boy.

Soon, Iruka returns with two straw baskets of shiny mackerels, prawns, three large squids as long as Kakashi’s arm, and a large cloth-wrapped chunk of what looks to be eel. Seawater drips from the bottom of the basket. He waves at Kakashi as he approaches.

“Sorry. I completely forgot,” Iruka says. “We probably shouldn’t wander around town with the fish. Shall we go back first?”

Kakashi offers to carry one basket but Iruka steadfastly refuses.

“It wouldn’t be proper,” he insists. A little primly, Kakashi thinks, but he has a point. 

They walk side by side back to the inn, the basket putting an annoying distance between them. Kakashi soon gets used to the smell and begins to talk.

White Hair, whom Kakashi learns called Jiraiya, is a poet and a painter. Iruka says that he and Orochimaru arrived three years ago and have stayed in the inn since. 

“Jiraiya-sama goes to Yoshiwara every night,” Iruka says disapprovingly.

Kakashi perks up at the mention of the red-light district. 

“To paint?” Kakashi asks. Yoshiwara courtesans are renowned for their beauty. The most sought-after woodblock prints are those of the most beautiful courtesans.

“He only says he’s painting,” Iruka gripes, “but all he does is peep into the courtesans’ private rooms. Anyway, there are only so many times you can see a man beaten half to death before you stop caring altogether.”

Orochimaru, on the other hand, is a shut-in who only leaves his darkened room for nourishment. Iruka knows nothing about him besides the fact that he has books about anatomy on his tea table and that he likes eel.

Kakashi has met all of the other workers in the inn over the past few days. There is the cook, Akimichi Chōza, and his assistant, Mitarashi Anko. According to Iruka, there used to be another worker, Mizuki, who left the day before Kakashi’s arrival.

Iruka has on a perfectly amicable expression, but there is a chilling note in his voice when he delivers the last piece of information. 

They walk towards the bay a second time, setting out with a respectable distance between them that dwindles to almost nothing when they reach the bay. It is still crowded, and more stifling now under the baking heat of the sun. The packed dirt feels solid and warm under Kakashi’s sandals. There are clouds obscuring the tops of distant buildings and mountains to the west and the open ocean to the east. A faint breeze teases Kakashi with brief snatches of reprieve from the relentless heat.

Iruka gives a good tour of the city, pointing out his favourite shops and where the daimyos like to shop. They get to Kyobashi area at midday, with all sorts of crafts lining the streets. The neighbourhood they are walking through has rows upon rows of beautiful porcelains and clay pottery. The further they walk, the more ornate the wares become.

Kakashi makes a stop at one of the bookstores near the Nihonbashi bridge and comes away with one historical anthology of the works of some Buddhist priest from the last century and a promising-looking book titled The Plum in the Golden Vase. Iruka has a book as well, wrapped in paper and tucked under his arm. 

Walking across the bridge, they draw a few odd looks. A samurai and a peasant walking so close to each other, arms almost brushing. At the Nihonbashi market, Iruka points to the north and says, “That is the Suruga-Machi.”

Men and painted women in intricately-embroidered silk kimonos saunter down the street. Delicate parasols bob up and down. The street is colourful and wide, with expensive-looking buildings looming at the sides. This must be the famous shopping district for rich merchants, samurai, and daimyos. It is the only place Iruka doesn’t give a personal opinion about. 

“If you want to look around, I’ll wait here,” Iruka offers. He looks at Kakashi expectantly.

Kakashi shakes his head. “I’m hungry,” he says instead. As he passes the street, he looks at it in disdain. He’s never been partial to Edo’s especially privileged. He doesn’t think they’d care much for him either. 

Iruka leads Kakashi to a small food cart at the far end of Nihonbashi market. A man in a white linen kimono gives a deep bow to Kakashi and smiles at Iruka.

Iruka nods. “Two please, Teuchi-san.”

He and Kakashi sit at the small fold-out table as Teuchi-san prepares two bowls of hot soba. The smell of tsuyu, the steaming soy sauce broth Teuchi-san pours over the noodles, is rich and tantalising. Kakashi swallows the saliva that pools in his mouth. 

Teuchi-san serves his soba topped with shrimp tempura and light strips of seaweed. Iruka digs in without ceremony and Kakashi follows suit, slurping the noodles quickly in appreciation. It’s better than any other soba he’d ever had in those opulent, stuffy tearooms that cost an arm and a leg. This soba is perfectly chewy, and the salty broth is light and refreshing. They are both too absorbed in the flavour to make conversation.

Kakashi finishes his soba well before Iruka and sips the sake that suddenly appears before him, thanks to the seemingly psychic Teuchi-san. When Iruka is done, they sit together, sake in hand, not saying anything substantial to preserve the drowsy atmosphere.

Iruka insists on paying, which Kakashi is grateful for. He’d only brought enough for the two books. When they stand up to leave, Teuchi-san bows again to Kakashi and says, “Thank you for visiting our humble food cart.” 

Iruka waves. “Until next time.”

 

“I used to live here,” Iruka says in an offhand manner. They are walking back south but had turned into an alley going away from the Tokaido. Occasionally, Iruka points out shops that sell good udon, sushi, or sake. 

Kakashi observes the streets carefully, making note of each turn they make. The buildings seem to slouch under their own weight, dark wooden planks rough to the touch. The storefronts are simpler here. The polished veil of wealth has lifted: they have crossed over to the shabbier side of Edo. 

“I heard you were travelling for a long time before this,” Iruka says, looking interested.

“Almost ten years,” Kakashi replies. “I was with my teacher at first. He wanted to see the mountains up north, so that’s where we went. Then I continued travelling south to the Hyūga prefecture...”

Iruka’s eyes are wide. “Wow. What is it like in the north?”

“Cold,” Kakashi says. He feels unusually chatty. “We went as far north as possible in the Ezo territory. In that village, there is snow for most of the year. In winter, the snow piles up higher than a person. Most houses have doors on their roofs or on the second floor. There are tunnels in the snow from one house to the next.”

“You lived with the Ezo people?” Iruka asks, surprised.

“Yes. They aren’t partial to outsiders, but my teacher somehow convinced them to let us stay there for a while.” His teacher’s charm is nothing short of incredible. There is that usual ache that follows memories of him. “I didn’t know a word of the language, so I left as soon as I could.”

“I used to know someone who worked for the Matsumae clan. They’re in charge of most of the trade with the Ezo, right? He told me there were quite a few rebellions against the government there. Was it peaceful when you were there?” 

Kakashi shrugs. “We stayed quite far away from the borders. My teacher had a friend who let us stay in his house.”

“And the south?”

“It’s not so different form here. The ports are busier because it is where foreigner ships dock, but it’s not as crowded.” Kakashi wants to describe the vast paddies that surround the port town but finds his words lacking.

“What about your teacher?” 

“He died in Ezo,” Kakashi says, glancing at Iruka who now looks guilty. “An old friend challenged him to a duel and he lost. I left for the south after he died.”

“I’m sorry,” Iruka says.

“It’s the samurai way,” Kakashi says lightly. He means to sound reassuring, but Iruka looks all the more troubled.

They walk around the southern suburb of Edo until their shadows on the ground begin to lengthen. The conversation is light-hearted and whatever memories that had surfaced now retreats to the furthest recesses of Kakashi’s mind. Iruka suddenly starts. “Do you know the way back?” Iruka asks.

“Yeah,” Kakashi says. “Where are you going now?”

“I’m going to the rowhouses. I have some business there; I didn’t realise it was this late…” He points at a row of dilapidated-looking timber houses crammed together far down the road. The further they walk from central Edo, the poorer the neighbourhoods become. Little children here streak around in ragged kimonos, and the adults look tired and beat-down. Their bodies are gaunt and the smell of timber, sweat and mildew hang about the evening air. 

Every inhabitant of the neighbourhood seems to eye Kakashi warily, jaw set just shy of hostile, and it makes Kakashi’s hackles rise. Iruka is shifting uneasily, so Kakashi swallows his questions and says, “I’ll be going, then.”

“Thank you. I’m so sorry about this.”

Kakashi waves off his apology and they slowly part, Iruka with a sheepish smile and Kakashi, helpless to resist a small smile in return. 

Despite Iruka plainly warning Kakashi that he was only free till evening, Kakashi feels a little annoyed at the sudden parting. He wanders in what must be the general direction of the Tokaido highway, his mind occupied by that general irritation. He only belatedly notices the quiet patter of feet behind him. A few children have followed him from the rowhouses, and they look up meekly when he turns around. They are clad in rags, hair matted with grease and dust. A couple of them look positively emaciated.

The only reason Kakashi hasn’t fallen into abject poverty after almost a decade in the backcountry is because of his well-numbed conscience. He’s had practice ignoring the less-privileged. He is poor for a samurai, just barely getting by with the remnants of the pay from his last lord. The Hatake clan is struggling, too, so it wouldn’t be right for Kakashi to demand any money.

He sighs and continues walking. 

The little feet behind him gradually disperse, but one pair seems especially persistent.

“It’s getting dark,” Kakashi says, turning around. “Shouldn’t you be getting home?”

“Why?” the boy asks, his blonde hair offensively bright in the orange sunset. Kakashi shrugs.

“It’s dangerous out here. Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you,” the boy says, scowling. So Kakashi walks on, and so do the little bare feet behind him.

“Hey,” the boy says as they approach the Tokaido highway, “do you have any money?”

“No,” Kakashi says curtly. The boy is undeterred.

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere children aren’t allowed. Stop following me.”

“Like I said,” Naruto repeats slowly, as if Kakashi was the dull one, “I’m not following you.”

Kakashi wonders how the boy has survived for so long with such bad manners in a city filled with cantankerous samurai. 

He turns right into a street running parallel to the highway, walking briskly with the hopes of losing his shadow. He makes a few more turns until he’s standing at the same spot he was before. The blonde boy is with him every step of the way, panting slightly.

Well, Kakashi has done all he can. As he continues his walk back to the inn, Kakashi imagines how Hiruzen would react to a new freeloader and suddenly doesn’t mind the little boy’s presence.

Now they are walking down the Tokaido highway. People and messenger horses make their way in the gentle twilight, much fewer now than earlier in the afternoon. There is a girl in a worn linen kimono rushing home in the distance. Edo in the night is a harsh place.

“Hey, wait here!” Naruto exclaims, darting off somewhere. Kakashi twists around to see the boy running towards a distant alley. At the mouth of the alley, he bends down to pick up what looks to be waste paper, yellowed, dirt-covered things that were once fliers and letters. Clutching his booty to his chest, the boy whirls around and runs towards Kakashi, face split in a grin. “Score!” he yells. In the distance, his small frame looks smaller, his body all limbs and bones.

The boy runs carelessly, bumping into a man clad in an elaborate silk kimono on his way to Kakashi. He makes as if to bow, but the man is already shouting. 

There is too much distance to cross. Before Kakashi even gets to them, the man has struck the boy and left. 

The boy stands there for a moment. His tiny shoulders are squared as he faces the man’s retreating back. He holds his waste paper tightly to his chest, not losing a single sheet even during the encounter. Kakashi is already halfway there, but the frozen air halts his steps.

There aren’t many sounds around. Kakashi can hear his own breathing. He can’t tear his gaze away from the boy’s small back. He wonders, passingly, what they boy’s expression must look like. Kakashi doesn’t know much about children, but they are usually fragile.

Then the moment passes. The boy turns around and continues running to Kakashi, big smile plastered all over his face. His cheek is red and beginning to swell, but he runs as if nothing happened. He is almost convincing.

After that, save for the one time the boy asks, “Hey, are you sure you don’t have money?”, they walk to the inn in silence, side by side.

 

Unfortunately, Hiruzen only grumbles something about Kakashi being “almost as bad as Iruka, that brat” and allows the boy to hang around and have food for free. It wasn’t the interesting payoff Kakashi had expected, and now he’s saddled with a boy. They head to the dining room to get some dinner.

“Oho,” Jiraiya says from a corner seat, snickering. “An illegitimate son?”

Without a word, Kakashi seats the boy as far away as he can from the lecherous old man. Said lecherous old man comes anyway and sits next to the boy, bringing his sake flask and cup along.

“So you like them young, huh?” Jiraiya smirks at Kakashi as he ruffles the boy’s hair. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Uzumaki Naruto!” comes the reply as the boy knocks Jiraiya’s hand away.

“Naruto-kun,” Jiraiya says seriously, “listen. You’re too careless. You can’t be following anybody you meet.” He wobbles a little, gesturing at Kakashi. “This man, for example, is a kidnapper. He sells children on the black market. And that one,” Jiraiya points at the door. Orochimaru has taken the opportune moment to enter with more sealed bottles in his straw bag and books in his arm. “That one,” Jiraiya whispers, “eats children.”

Orochimaru glares at Jiraiya and slinks past them, vanishing into the hallway.

“Whatever,” the boy mumbles, looking sceptically at Jiraiya, but Kakashi thinks he spots a smidgen of fear in those big blue eyes. 

Naruto scarfs his food down messily, but he picks every stray grain of rice off the table afterwards and eats it. They sit there, Kakashi quietly sipping sake and Naruto asking whether Jiraiya has any money. Jiraiya drops a silver coin into his hand. It’s one of the smaller denominations, but Naruto still looks at it with starry eyes.

“Woah, thanks! It’s because, you know, I needa find a new place to live,” Naruto says. “I got kicked out of my old one.”

“Why?” Kakashi asks, curious at last.

“Well, it’s not my fault. The others thought I wasn’t clean enough or something. It’s not like the place didn’t stink before I came.”

“How many people did you stay with?” Jiraiya asks, eyes drooping and cheeks pink from the sake.

“Erm… eight? Nine if you count Akamaru. He’s a dog.”

“Mm…” Jiraiya nods, but his eyes are closed and even Naruto can tell he’s not listening.

“Tch,” the boy clicks his tongue, then directs every subsequent complaint about his roommates to Kakashi. “But it’s okay,” he says in the end, “they always let me come back after a while, because they’re my friends.”


	3. Chapter 3

Early in the morning, Kakashi drinks tea in the dining room, seated close to the door. The morning breeze carries the fresh scent of dew into the inn.

Iruka stumbles into the inn, bleary-eyed.

“Hatake-sama,” he says with a start.

“Iruka-san,” Kakashi says pleasantly. He is curious as to where Iruka had spent the night, but he doesn’t know if it is his place to ask.

“I’m really sorry I made you go home alone yesterday,” Iruka says, grimacing. “I’d completely forgotten the time.”

Kakashi brushes off the apology with a wave and asks for breakfast instead. From the corner of his eye, he watches Iruka rush off into the kitchen. A while later, a loud crash sounds from the kitchen. “What–,” comes a boy’s startled yelp.

“Naruto?” Iruka exclaims. They continue with lowered voices in a conversation that sounds heated on Iruka’s part. Despite shamelessly trying to eavesdrop, from where he’s sitting, Kakashi can’t hear a word. He is gazing towards the kitchen with absent curiosity when Naruto walks out of the kitchen with a disgruntled expression.

“You! You didn’t tell me Iruka-sensei lives here,” he points at Kakashi accusingly.

Kakashi raises an eyebrow at the boy. “What did you do to make him so angry?”

Without an invitation, the boy climbs onto the seat next to Kakashi and says, “I skipped class yesterday. But he’s always angry at me, okay?" 

“He’s a teacher?”

“Yeah, but he only comes in the evening. I guess he has an actual job after all.” Naruto casts a lazy glance around the room.

“And there was class yesterday evening?” Kakashi asks.

“Yeah, but he was late, so I skipped. I even waited a whole ten minutes,” Naruto grumbles.

“Hm.” Kakashi doesn’t reply, but he feels satisfied, as if he has peeled back a layer of onion skin and come closer to understanding Iruka. 

Iruka clears his throat as he approaches their table with a tray in hand. He has three servings of miso soup, rice, and fish, fragrant as always. 

“Erm, do you mind if I sit here too?” he asks Kakashi, who isn’t surprised anymore at the way people treat civilities inside the inn. Even the seemingly straight-laced Iruka is warming up to Kakashi, their interactions slowly approaching familiarity.

“Please do,” Kakashi gestures his welcome with a smile, and he feels he means it.

“Urgh, so good,” Naruto says as he stuffs himself with fish.

As they eat, Kakashi finds out more about Iruka’s teaching work. The closest temple that provides education is a long walk away, and students would have to be away from home for most of the day. But most children in the rowhouses work throughout the day to supplement their parents’ meagre incomes, so that is not an option for them. Having struggled with that in his youth, Iruka goes to the rowhouses some evenings to teach them mathematics and literacy. Just the basics, he says.

Kakashi listens with rapt attention. It has been a long time since he felt this much interest in somebody else. He wants to indulge his curiosity… although maybe what he feels towards the man isn’t strictly curiosity.

“That’s pretty admirable,” Kakashi tells him. Iruka flushes and waves away the compliment. Naruto wanders back to the kitchen where he slept last night, probably trying to go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing special,” Iruka says, “there’s quite a few of us and we take turns.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “And it really is just the basics. Nothing like what you’d have learnt, as a samurai…”

“Still,” Kakashi says, “it’s good of you.” He doesn’t think Iruka believes him.

The question of where Iruka spent the night still bugs Kakashi, but he decides not to entertain that thought.

 

Kakashi dons a grey kimono when he goes out later in the afternoon, a deviation from his usual kamishimo. The samurai he has seen in Edo look far more casual in their kimono, and, feeling a little outdated, he has decided to follow suit. His swords bump against his hips as he walks, their presence familiar.

He walks towards Shinagawa, yesterday’s application letter burning a hole in his sleeve. He wants to send it today. It doesn’t matter what beliefs he thinks his father or Hiruzen hold. He doesn’t care one way or another about politics and he wants to get a well-paying job and this is the only one available to him in Edo. He has paid up front for a month of food and lodging and now he has barely three weeks left.

“Let’s have a serious talk,” Jiraiya says as he appears out of nowhere, grabbing Kakashi’s arm in a tight grip. Kakashi squints at him.

“Why?”

“Come,” Jiraiya drags him along. That is not an answer, but Kakashi relents and follows without question. Jiraiya has a large metal scroll holder strapped across his back. When they get to a teahouse, he unhitches it and screws the top open. They are seated in a quiet corner. He waits until the server has come and gone with tea before finally extracting the scrolls.

“Okay, two things,” Jiraiya says as he spreads his scrolls out on the table. “First of all, I heard you’ve never seen my work.” The scrolls unfurl to reveal various paintings. “And that is a crying shame. What do you think of these?”

Upon closer inspection, the paintings are graphic depictions of sexual acts in a variety of positions. Kakashi keeps his face impassive. Jiraiya points at one depicting two men going at it passionately. “This one,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “is commissioned personally by the monks in the picture.”

One of them is a picture of women in various stages of undress: beautiful women with delicately patterned kimonos falling off the shoulders or discarded to the floor. The women are slender, hair falling to their waists.

“They’re nice,” Kakashi says tepidly, using a lot of effort to tear his eyes away from the paintings and fix a mellow gaze on Jiraiya. “Are they all commissions?” Kakashi asks.

“Heh, you’re interested?” Jiraiya smirks. “Some are, but the clients don’t mind, so I’m mass printing most of these.”

Kakashi looks up at Jiraiya, his gaze having unconsciously floated to the paintings. “Mass printing? Where do you sell paintings like these?”

“The book-lenders at Kyobashi,” he says. Kakashi remembers walking through the district once. It is the home of respectable artisans and craftsmen and definitely not somewhere one would expect to find pornographic prints.

“…Don’t these go against public morals or something?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jiraiya puffs out his chest. “You’d be surprised at how many of these end up in the hands of the city’s top officials.” Shaking his head, Kakashi stores the information away carefully. He’ll need to pay a visit to Kyobashi, one of these days.

“I think I’ve just secured a new customer,” Jiraiya laughs shrewdly as he puts away the scrolls. “Now, the second thing,” he says, turning serious all of a sudden, “is about your letter.” Kakashi’s lips thin in annoyance. He wonders how Jiraiya knows about it. He keeps silent, waiting for Jiraiya to continue.

“But before we get to that, I need to tell you something. I’m sure you already know, kid, but Hatake Sakumo was involved in quite a few things that made the authorities unhappy. He covered his tracks well, but for the last few months before his death, he was under suspicion for treason.” Kakashi conceals his surprise. The situation was more serious than he thought. Jiraiya seems to be implying something with his tone that Kakashi is trying to wrap his head around.

“So what was the mission?” Kakashi asks after a short pause. Growing up, all he was told was that his father had abandoned his duty. Nobody would give Kakashi any more detail, and he soon learnt to stop asking.

“His master ordered him and two others to storm the house of an influential samurai clan. Three people against a hundred. Your father might have been the famous White Fang, but even he knew not to risk those odds.” Jiraiya shakes his head, lost now to some distant memory. The two others, as Kakashi remembers, were close friends of his father. Now, _co-conspirators_ is the word that pops into mind.

Kakashi remembers seeing his father’s resigned expression on the morning of the mission.  Maybe it is a false memory, just his suggestible imagination running wild and filling in the details, but Kakashi remembers the time he spent with his father that day inside out. They had breakfast together, Sakumo all quiet and standoffish before leaving. When Sakumo returned in the evening, Kakashi decided to give his father some space, but Sakumo sought him out. He doesn’t remember exactly what they spoke about, but Sakumo had asked about his training, face open and attentive. They played a game of shogi by the flickering lamplight and Kakashi went to sleep feeling content. That was the last time Kakashi saw him alive.

“You see,” Jiraiya continues, “they knew the mission was punishment. They were all under suspicion for a high-ranking assassination, but the shogun had no proof. The other two planned to go through with it and die in battle, but your father knocked them out to save their lives and came home.” Jiraiya closes his eyes with a heavy exhale. They both knew what happened in the time between night and morning, when young Kakashi was sleeping soundly, oblivious to his father’s grief. There was nothing that could stop the shogunate from getting what it wanted.

“And after that,” Kakashi says as if reciting a decree, “evidence tying the other two to the assassination was found and their immediate family were executed.” With that, he presses the only piece he’d owned onto the now-complete puzzle: the truth of Sakumo’s death. Kakashi feels like a child walking in on his father’s corpse all over again, the blood soaked deep into the tatami mats. The pungent stench of blood now surrounds him. He sees his father’s body slumped, still on its knees, tantō in hand.

“But anyway,” Jiraiya says with feigned enthusiasm, “with his reputation, there’s no point in applying for a spot in the palace.” Kakashi breathes in and out slowly, letting the images in his mind dissipate into thin air. He feels nausea rolling heavy in his stomach. He might have spent too long suppressing his memories instead of confronting them.

“So, what you’re saying is, they won’t take me because of my father’s reputation.”

“What I’m saying is, they might accept you and then kill you on some suicide mission. You escaped punishment, after all. And you should be careful while you’re in Edo. Your name is quite well-known, after all, Friend-killer Kakashi.”

“Alright,” Kakashi says, standing up. “I won’t send it. If that’s all, I’ll be off now.”

“When the woodblock prints are ready, I’ll give you one for free. A reward for growing up so well on your own.” Jiraiya calls after him.

Kakashi pays no attention to the way back to the inn, his mind stuck trying to digest Jiraiya’s words. The newly-revealed danger seems insignificant compared to the memories of his father that was dug up. The ground feels like it’s falling, or is it Kakashi’s stomach? He is in his room before he knows it, lying supine on the mat. He feels like he might have fallen through a hole in the road and landed here. The wooden ceiling looks distorted, straight lines turning into whorls. Thinking makes Kakashi feel dizzy, so he closes his eyes and breathes.

He wakes up to the sound of somebody calling him. The sun is already far to the west, the room’s interior dim and purple. Outside, the cicadas are still singing.

“Hatake-sama,” Iruka’s voice calls again. Kakashi replies, but his dreams overlap with reality and the silence ringing in his ears tells him he hasn’t said anything. Massaging his temples, Kakashi sits up.

“Iruka-san?” he tries again, his rough voice cutting too loudly into the cicadas’ song. He hears Iruka shift outside the door.

“I brought you dinner. May I come in?”

“Yes,” Kakashi says, clearing his throat. Iruka slides the door open and shuffles in on his knees. The tray Iruka sets on the table contain the inn’s usual dinner: pickled vegetables, various shellfish, miso soup, and a bowl of white rice with a large pickled plum pressed in the centre. Then he shuffles out of the room and returns with a wooden container he’d retrieved from outside the door. Kakashi looks at Iruka inquiringly.

“It’s, uh, roasted sweet potatoes,” Iruka says, scratching his head as he shuffles towards Kakashi. “A cart was selling some outside the inn. They’re really good… I thought you might want some.”

He sets the wooden box beside the tray. There are two sweet potatoes nestled together. Their darkened skins are split open vertically, revealing deep orange flesh that steams with a sweet, floral fragrance. “Thank you,” Kakashi murmurs, leaning forward to breathe in the aroma.

“No problem,” Iruka says, smiling. “It seems like you weren’t feeling well today, so I thought this might help. Anyway,” he says, backing away, “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Kakashi says again, and starts eating, feeling undeserving of Iruka’s kindness.

Halfway through the meal, Kakashi finally bothers to stumble around the room to light the oil lamps. When Iruka returns to take his tray, Kakashi is biting into the second sweet potato. The mild sweetness makes Kakashi feel more awake, its skin easily parting under his teeth.  “You’re right,” Kakashi says after swallowing a bite, “It’s good.”

Iruka approaches with his easy smile. “I know. Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kakashi says, feeling strangely awkward. He wonders if Iruka is coddling him, and if Iruka thinks less of him because of that. He feels as if he has shrunk and now Iruka has to handle him delicately. He shakes off the image and says, “I would like some tea, please.”

“Of course,” Iruka says, leaving with the tray, “I’ll be back soon.” At the door, Iruka pauses and asks, “Would you like me to call a serving girl?”

He shifts on his feet as Kakashi considers his answer. Kakashi wants company, but he doesn’t really feel like accommodating the woman, nice though she was. “No,” Kakashi says, “it’s alright.”

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait,” Kakashi calls out before his brain catches up with his mouth, “would you drink with me?”

“What?” Iruka asks. Then, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

Iruka returns with a pot of tea and two cups. “Just to confirm,” he says, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Kakashi, “you want me to pour your tea and not Shizune?”

Kakashi nods, the awkwardness from before resurfacing. He wonders if he is imposing on the other man. Iruka has other jobs to do, after all. But Iruka just says, “alright then,” and pours the tea into both cups.

Iruka sits across the table while the serving girl would usually sit right next to Kakashi. In the quiet that follows, as they sip their tea, he seems ill-at-ease. Kakashi feels it, too; he is starting to regret acting on a whim.

But still, he feels braced by Iruka’s presence. Being with well-educated Shizune makes Kakashi feel obliged to put up a front. Iruka is genuine and sincere, and Kakashi feels himself speaking more honestly around the man.

“Iruka-san,” Kakashi starts, without really an idea about how that sentence would end. He is grasping for a conversation topic. “Do you enjoy reading?” he settles on finally. Iruka is a teacher, after all. 

“Yes,” he says. “I assume you do, too?” he gestures to the pile of books beside Kakashi’s straw bag.

“Yeah… this is a little too formal.” Kakashi scoots around the corner of the table so that they are sitting perpendicular to each other. Sitting closer together helps unravel the stiffness that had built between them. Kakashi leans back and props a knee up, stretching the tension out of his shoulders.

Iruka holds the cup close to his face. From this distance, Kakashi can closely scrutinise his features, but he ignores the temptation. Instead, he drags his cup over and says, “I read mostly in Chinese.”

“Oh, I don’t really know much of that besides a word here and there. Somebody told me the language is more profound.”

Kakashi shrugs, “I don’t know about that. It’s just my preference because of how I was taught. What do you read?”

“Everything I can get my hands on. I usually buy discarded books from the children in the rowhouses,” Iruka says, his voice animated calming to Kakashi. “It’s a strange selection; you wouldn’t believe the sort of things I find.” Iruka grins in reminiscence. “When I have more money to spare, I go to the book-lenders or the bookstore to look for stories of adventures. Sometimes poetry, too.”

“Oh?” Kakashi perks up, latching on to a shared interest at last. “What poetry?" 

“A lot of different sorts,” Iruka says and pauses. “There’s this poem that I read recently,” he continues slowly, sounding unsure. “It was a translation and you might know it. I don’t know if it’s famous or anything, because I don’t really know about poetry. But I think it’s good.” Kakashi props his head up on a fist, looking attentively at Iruka. He feels a little impatient to hear what it is.  “It’s called Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain.”

“Ah, I know that one,” Kakashi says, “but I’ve never come across a translation before. Do you remember how it goes?”

“Only parts of it,” Iruka says, closing his eyes to think for a moment. “ _It's cold this night in autumn's third month, / Peacefully within, a lone old man. / He lies down late, the lamp already gone out, / And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain_... I don’t remember how it ends.” He rolls his cup between his palms for a while as he thinks. Then he says, “Give me a moment, I’ll fetch it.”

“You don’t have to—” Kakashi is quick to reply, but Iruka is already standing up with a cheery smile.

“No, it’s alright. I want to share it with you,” he says. When he comes back, he passes a yellowed piece of paper to Kakashi. The handwriting is messy, as if hastily penned down in a moment of inspiration, but the words are captivating.

 

_It's cold this night in autumn's third month,_

_Peacefully within, a lone old man._

_He lies down late, the lamp already gone out,_

_And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain._

_The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,_

_Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers._

_When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,_

_The red frosted leaves cover the steps._

 

Kakashi reads it twice, carefully feeling the airy weight of the words in his mind. The silence stretches out between them, relaxed and mellow. Kakashi had never really liked the poet much, and he never really liked this specific poem, but now he feels as if he is there, sitting by the cooling ashes with the lonely old man. It must be the translation, he thinks. Or maybe it’s because Iruka is sitting so close to Kakashi and emanating such a warm aura.

“That’s a very good translation, to be able to preserve so much of the original’s atmosphere” Kakashi says, “And add to it, too.” Iruka smiles happily.

“It’s my friend who wrote a translation for me. She does translations as a hobby. I’ll let her know you praised her work. It’ll make her very happy." 

Unexpectedly, Kakashi feels a tiny stab of jealousy digging into his sternum. “She must be very talented,” he says instead, feeling as if he is driving a needle even deeper into his chest.

The conversation moves on to books about adventure, which are apparently Iruka’s favourite. “I haven’t been able to read many,” Iruka says. Kakashi promises to remedy that.

As the night wears on, Kakashi forgets all about his jealousy. There are moments when Iruka reminds him of Rin–their easy smiles are too similar. But he forgets about that too. There is just Iruka whose presence swells and occupies the whole of Kakashi’s attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't mentioned it, but Kakashi only wears an eyepatch and not a mask. Info and pics of kamishimo can be found here: http://japanworld.info/blog/kamishimo/ 
> 
> Sorry for not attaching a picture. I don't really get copyright laws and stuff. ><


	4. Chapter 4

Sitting by the window under the clear night sky, Kakashi lets his application letter burn to ashes above an oil lamp. He lies down on his futon for a night of fitful sleep and wakes up feeling adrift.

Kakashi is waiting for Hiruzen to confirm Jiraiya’s story. He can’t get any peace of mind otherwise. Jiraiya was probably telling the truth but as of last week they were just strangers, and Kakashi thinks there might be more to it than that. 

But the inn owner has disappeared in the early hours of morning with a messenger horse, according to Shizune. Nobody knows when he will return. Kakashi curses his luck. Truthfully, he doesn’t really need Hiruzen’s corroboration. Joining the army is doing a disservice to his father, so he has already decided not to apply. He just feels restless, as if there is nothing he can do before knowing more.

He spends two days in the inn, lounging in his room and sipping tea in the dining room, making meaningless conversation with the people around him. Naruto leaves on the second day, his friends apparently having forgiven him. Shizune tells Kakashi she is offended that he has been having tea with Iruka instead of her, but her tone is teasing.

On the third day, Kakashi asks Shizune for directions to find a certain big-breasted actress from his memories. Shizune gives it to him happily, together with a neatly-wrapped wooden box. “I made this myself. She’ll probably demand a gift,” she says.

He scrubs himself clean and oils his hair into a neat ponytail. He dons the formal kamishimo over his dark grey kimono for good measure, hoping he looks presentable enough. High-ranking courtesans only receive wealthy customers, after all. He bumps into Iruka on the way to the door.

“Are you going out?” Iruka asks, his arms full of freshly-laundered towels. He looks at Kakashi appraisingly.

Kakashi nods his assent, fiddling with the wakizashi sheath strapped to his obi. He wonders what Iruka is thinking. “I need some fresh air,” he says.

“You look very… regal. Where are you going?” Iruka asks, looking fixated on Kakashi’s face.

“To Yoshiwara.” Kakashi says, meaning to elaborate, but there isn’t really time to explain everything about his past. “To visit an old friend.”

“Oh, okay. You’ll get more than just fresh air there,” Iruka replies with a strained laugh. Walking away stiffly, he says, “Have fun.” Kakashi feels his chest twinge. He pushes his dismay out of mind and walks out of the inn.

Past the towering red gate, the wooden buildings in Yoshiwara are brightly decorated with colourful lanterns and banners. Trees stand in the middle of the large road, providing their shade at regular intervals. On the crowded streets, peasants and officials alike walk with dreamy expressions, eyeing painted courtesans with their vibrant kimonos fluttering in the wind. At the sides, some brothels provide a display: bamboo poles create a barrier behind which courtesans sit and wait to be approached by a customer. Kakashi stops in front of a sizeable building that rises even taller than the rest. It takes more than a minute to walk along its full width. There is a large purple banner of a plum blossom high up above the entrance, just as Shizune described. He walks in through a smaller door on its side.

“Welcome to the Plum Garden,” a girl apprentice greets. She is small, with limbs that bend like slender twigs. “If you are looking for a courtesan, please follow me, Samurai-sama.”

She leads Kakashi to a tatami room where an old woman is kneeling. The owner of the establishment, perhaps. Kakashi kneels on a cushion in front of her.

“Esteemed Samurai,” the old woman greets, “we are honoured by your visit. Is there a particular person that you are looking for?”

“I’m looking for Tsunade-sama,” Kakashi says. He doesn’t miss the way the old woman’s eyebrows rise.

“She is in very high demand,” the woman says. “Perhaps another woman would be more to your liking?”

“I’m just looking for Tsunade-sama for a social call,” Kakashi insists.

“We will see if she is available,” the woman says, waving the small apprentice away to fetch Tsunade. “Of course, the courtesan is free to reject anyone she pleases.”

“She knows me,” Kakashi says coolly, although he isn’t sure Tsunade will remember him at all. 

The woman who sweeps into the room is tall and queenly, her heavy layers of kimono trailing behind her. Her posture is graceful, with her shoulders pulled back and her head slightly bowed. She looks around the room through her eyelashes, the top half of her face shadowed. Her gaze falls on Kakashi with a gleam of recognition. It may be the effect of the white paint on her face, but she looks as if she hasn’t aged a day. The room is silent except for the rustling of cloth as she walks closer, the three of them now making three corners of a triangle.

“Good evening,” she says warmly. “Please come with me.” The old woman looks at Tsunade in unconcealed surprise. Kakashi rises to his feet.

Tsunade’s room is large and opulent, split into two parts by rice paper screens. Across the parted screen door, Kakashi catches a glimpse of a red silk futon. She leads him towards a low table, lacquered to reveal the dark wood’s looping grains. There is a blue table mat embroidered with cranes and flowers, its colour brightened by a silken lustre. Kakashi examines it for a fleeting moment.

“Isn’t that nice?” Tsunade asks as they settle on the tatami mat. “It’s a gift from a Chinese merchant.” Two apprentices pad in with trays of tea and sweets.

“Aren’t cranes a symbol of fertility?” Kakashi asks. 

Tsunade chuckles and says, “Symbolism aside, it’s made by a famous artist. It’s priceless, you know? Did you bring a gift?”

“From Shizune,” Kakashi says, handing over the wooden box. Tsunade quickly unties the wrapping and opens it to reveal Shizune’s hand-made candies and cakes. Tsunade has a sweet tooth, apparently, because she grins happily and says, “Okay, good enough.”

The sweets that the apprentices set on the table are arranged neatly on delicate plates. There are colourful rice cakes dusted with flour and transparent jellies that look like glass. The tea that they are served is the colour of emerald, thick and fragrant. Kakashi’s mouth waters as he waits impatiently for the girls to finish pouring it.

When they leave at last, Tsunade’s posture immediately degenerates. She props a knee up and leans on one arm. “So, Hatake Kakashi-chan,” she says, shooting him a sharp grin. “Long time no see.” 

“It’s been a while, granny,” Kakashi says with his eye scrunched in a smile. Tsunade clicks her tongue.

“Damn brat. I’m guessing you’re here to catch up?”

“More or less…” Kakashi says, shifting into a more comfortable position and drawing the tea cup closer to him and breathing in its aroma.

“Jiraiya told me you were in town, but you sure took your time.”

“Sorry,” Kakashi says. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“As if I could forget,” Tsunade laughs. “You were the cutest little tsundere back then.” Kakashi doesn’t grace this with a reply. Instead, he takes a long sip of tea. It is rich and earthy, and probably worth much more than his gift. Tsunade picks up a pink rice cake. It gives easily under her fingers and stretches lazily as she plops it into her mouth. 

“Anyway,” Kakashi says, “how have you been?” 

“Not bad,” Tsunade says, wrists unfolding as she gestures towards the wealth she has accumulated. All her upholstery is made of silk, glittering with delicate embroidered patterns. Her furniture is made of dark lacquered wood that matches the table, decorated with gold and mother of pearl that depict scenes from folklore. But she smiles with mirthless eyes. “I’ve almost paid off all my debt to the kabuki troupe. That means I can retire soon. I’ll be rich when I do,” she laughs. “I’ll sell everything here. But more importantly, let’s talk about what you’ve been doing all these years. Start from the beginning. What happened after Sakumo died?”

She makes it sound as if Kakashi’s life began with Sakumo’s death. And she might be right. The happy childhood travelling by Sakumo’s side seems like an impalpable dream, rose-coloured and blurry with age. In contrast, his life since then has been sharper, filled with the shock and pain of repeated losses and betrayals, interspersed with the occasional moments of happiness. It was as if he was riding the crest of a wave that abruptly crashed into a rocky shore.

“My teacher, Namikaze Minato-sensei took me in,” Kakashi says, weighing his words carefully and sifting out excess emotions. “There were two other students. They died on a mission… After our contract ended, Minato-sensei and I went to find another place to stay but we ended up just travelling wherever he wanted.” 

In their last years together, Kakashi had only started to really see how far apart he was from Minato, who was easy-going and treated everyone with kindness. It would be easy for the Yellow Flash and even his pupil to find a new master, but Minato was apparently done. All he wanted now were to see the furthest corners of the country and revisit all the acquaintances he’s made over the years. After that, he told Kakashi with the biggest grin, he’d find a red-haired girl he had a fling with years ago and marry her. She’d never left his mind, even after all those years. They’d live together in Edo, he said decisively. Kakashi promised to visit often.

“I said I’d accompany him until Edo, and then I’ll work for a daimyō and make a fortune for myself. Well, we only got as far as Akita…” Kakashi trails off.

Tsunade nods. “Yeah, I know what happened next. He used to come here a long time ago. That Namikaze Minato was a good kid.” Tsunade peers at Kakashi for a moment and says, “Say, if you’re his student, how come I’ve never heard of you?”

Kakashi holds back a grimace. “I like keeping a low profile. Minato-sensei died because too many people were after his head, you know.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know another student of his called Sukea, do you?” Tsunade asks. Kakashi nods and opens his mouth to reply, but Tsunade cuts in. “He’s almost as famous as his teacher used to be. If Minato was the flash that brought down the wrath of the searing sun, then Sukea would be the lightning that strikes his enemies in the depths of the night. Or something like that.”

“It’s a little dramatic, if you ask me,” Kakashi shakes his head, the descriptions grating on him a little. People liked to romanticise Minato’s power. Truthfully, Minato trained himself to rags every day in order to draw his sword a little faster each time. Each fraction of a second can determine a samurai’s life or death.

“I hear he wears a mask so that nobody can come after him for vengeance. But you’re a fellow student… So, tell me, brat,” Tsunade says with a leer, “what does this Sukea person look like?” 

“I don’t know,” Kakashi says. “He’s a secretive person.” He knows his poker face betrays nothing, but Tsunade looks far too amused for his liking.

“Then get a mirror. It’s weird that you don’t know what you look like,” Tsunade laughs, “right, Sukea?”

Annoyance bubbles in Kakashi, but he musters a dry voice and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tsunade only hums and plucks another rice cake off the plate. She chews it with vigour. Gone is the earlier illusion of an elegant, subservient flower.

“What’s so bad about being famous?” Tsunade asks after knocking back a cup of tea like it is sake. “I mean, don’t you get a lot of perks?”

“It’s too troublesome,” Kakashi mutters. “Fame isn’t worth anything in the long run, anyway. Nobody really remembers the White Fang or the Yellow Flash anymore.”

“Tsk. You think too much,” Tsunade said. “Those two were happy just doing whatever they wanted. Fame is just a temporary bonus.”

“I’m fine with the way it is,” Kakashi says with a smile. “It’s more peaceful this way. I don’t get dragged into troublesome duels…”

“Well,” Tsunade shrugs. Her eyes are dark and introspective. “if that’s how you want it. But life is too short to live so cautiously.” 

Kakashi doesn’t know how the conversation turned so morose. He is curious about Tsunade’s past. He knows courtesans usually endure their whole lives trapped in debt, but he doesn’t know how to ask. Tsunade asks him about his father instead, and about the remnants of the Hatake clan.

Tsunade has an appointment at sunset, so Kakashi finds himself back at the inn for dinner. Iruka has gone to teach. As he eats alone in a corner, Shizune approaches him, her kimono swishing as it sweeps across the floor.

“So?” Shizune asks, eyes shining. “What did Tsunade-sama say about the gift?”

“Bring more candies next week,” Kakashi quotes.

“Ugh, not even a word of thanks,” Shizune grumbles fondly, “she really has no manners.”

After bringing his empty plates back to the kitchen, Kakashi returns to his room quietly. The window is open, carrying warm air into the drowsy interior of the dim room. He quickly changes into a yukata and lies down on his futon, gazing out at the orange sky through the window. It is dark when he is woken by the sound of footsteps just outside his door. 

“Kakashi-san. Are you awake?” Iruka asks softly, his voice muffled. It’s strange for him to seek Kakashi out without invitation.

“Mm. Come in,” Kakashi says, trying to rouse himself from his half-asleep daze. He sits up and years of samurai training fight to clear his mind and analyse the situation.

“Excuse me,” Iruka says as he walks into the room. Kakashi had left a lamp burning when he fell asleep. Under the light of a dying flame, Kakashi can only see Iruka’s silhouette. Wordlessly, he lights a few more lamps as Iruka places a tray on the table. When Kakashi raises his head, he sees Iruka looking at him with uncertain eyes. Kakashi holds his gaze, still disoriented and foggy with sleep. Iruka’s face is glowing slightly in the red-gold light. 

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Iruka says finally, ducking his head. “I brought sake.”

“Thanks,” Kakashi says, sitting down at the table and breathing in the sharp, nutty aroma. He wants to ask why Iruka is here, but he spends too long trying to phrase it in a way that doesn’t sound hostile.

“Shizune told me to bring this here. I didn’t realise you’d already be asleep.”

“It’s okay,” Kakashi says. Looking around, he notices the eyepatch that he’d discarded before sleeping, crumpled atop a pile of clothes. As the warmth of the sake wafts onto his face, he is suddenly aware of the scar that runs down the left side of his face and his left eye that he’d carelessly uncovered. He shuts his left eye quickly. Clad only in his yukata, he feels the cold of the night settling on his skin.

“What happened to your eye?” Iruka asks, surprised. “Wait, sorry, ignore that. I just…” he pauses.

“It looks worse than you’d think, doesn’t it?” Kakashi asks. He usually keeps it covered to avoid scaring kids. The white of the eye has turned a dull red from blood that constantly pools under the cornea. The iris and pupil look unblemished, but there is a certain dullness to the left eye as compared to the right. “I got this scar fighting a group of bandits,” Kakashi says. “It was almost twenty years ago.”

“Can you still see with it?” Iruka asks, curiosity and sympathy warring in his expression. “Does it affect your balance?”

“No.” Kakashi reaches over to grab his eyepatch. It takes conscious effort to keep it shut. “I cover it, so people don’t get scared.”

“If that’s the case” Iruka says, laying his hand on Kakashi’s arm for a moment. “You don’t have to close it. Unless you want to, I mean.”

Kakashi nods. “Okay then.” If Iruka asks again another day, Kakashi will tell him everything, about how the scar is just punishment for his crimes, even if it’s selfish to burden the man with his guilt. He wants to tell Iruka about Rin and Obito, and about how Kakashi led them both to their demise. Just not today. 

They sip tea to fill the silence that stretches again in the dimness of the room. Iruka shifts a bit, searching for a more comfortable position. He clears his throat.

“So… How was your visit to your old friend today?” Iruka asks hesitantly.

“It was alright,” Kakashi replies. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, but Iruka speaks first.

“I heard you visited one of the most requested courtesans in Yoshiwara,” Iruka says, looking down at his cup. When he looks up, there’s an obviously questioning look in his eyes.

“I was visiting my father’s friend, Tsunade-sama. Do you know her?” Kakashi says casually. Beneath his calm façade, he is hiding how much he wants Iruka not to misunderstand. “She used to work here years ago.”

“Oh, I do,” Iruka says. The way Iruka’s expression relaxes puts the rest of Kakashi’s doubts to rest. “I hear about her whenever Shizune goes to visit her, but I’ve never met her personally. So, you must have known her for a long time?”

“Since I was a baby,” Kakashi smiles. “My father used to take me to stay here in this inn. I’ve known Sarutobi-san for just as long.”

“Your father is the White Fang, isn’t he?” Iruka says, expression bright.

“Yeah. You know him?” Kakashi says, although his father isn’t exactly the subject he wants to discuss at the moment.

“I met him when I was younger,” Iruka says. “He visited the slums with Sarutobi-san and, when I was an apprentice here, I heard a lot of admirable things about him.”

“You’ve heard the other things too, haven’t you?” Kakashi asks. “You don’t think he’s a traitor?”

“I don’t know, but I think there must have been a good reason for what he did.” Iruka says. “I don’t know the circumstances, he was kind to us kids in the rowhouses, so I guess I could never see him in a bad light.” He laughs a little.

Kakashi only nods uncomfortably. He doesn’t know what to make of this. He’d never had as much faith in his own father as Iruka seems to have. And he is still shaken by the memories that had recently surfaced.

“Sorry. It’s none of my business. Let’s change the subject,” Iruka says awkwardly. Kakashi wonders what sort of expression he’d been making.

“No,” Kakashi shakes his head, “it’s okay.” It may be Iruka’s natural thoughtfulness or his insistence on seeing the good in others, but Kakashi feels comfortable talking to Iruka. He wonders what Iruka makes of his own somewhat lacking social skills. But Iruka is leaning forward, as if arrested by whatever Kakashi was saying. There is a warmth that envelops them, and it seems as if time is running slower in the room.

“It’s getting late,” Iruka says later. The moon is already out, shining through their window. “I should go soon…” They have drifted closer during the conversation. Kakashi is sorely tempted to cross what’s left of the distance between them. He says his goodbyes instead, impeccably polite.

Kakashi feels himself drawing even closer. There is a loud ringing in his ears. He could kiss Iruka now… but the Iruka is rattling on about their plans for tomorrow, sounding all flustered. His face is flushed from the sake all the way to the ears as he pushes himself away from the table. He rises to his feet unsteadily, looking down at Kakashi.

It would be so easy to ask him to stay the night, Kakashi thinks. But it’s no good if they’re both drunk. Iruka is already leaving anyway. Tomorrow. Kakashi will do it tomorrow. 

The door slides shut behind Iruka, shattering whatever it was that had earlier encased the two of them. Kakashi takes a tempering sip of sake, letting the burn in his throat ground him. The warmth that settles in his stomach fills him with determination; he’ll make a move tomorrow, no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

The air outside his futon is cold. Kakashi was woken by the croaking of frogs in a nearby stream. Now he lies motionless in the brightening room, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling, thinking about his future. He has been wandering aimlessly for so long, meeting people, seeing new places, then leaving them behind.

Some samurai live to have the title of the strongest in Japan. But he’s always been strong enough. So maybe the point of living, for him, is just to wander aimlessly, to see more of the world. Minato-sensei always wanted to leave Japan and sail the seas.

But somewhere in the back of Kakashi’s mind, there are dark, niggling thoughts that leak out: there is his father, and there are Obito and Rin to avenge. Underneath the façade of peace, Japan is flourishing on the foundation of the most revolting crimes. Kakashi has seen everything. Farmers starve as their produce is snatched away by cold-hearted daimyō. In return, they get a fraction of what they’ve made. Samurai are disposable in the hundreds, and the poor and the untouchables are lower than dogs. Not many people have the luxury to think about the suffering of others. And yet, more than anything, Kakashi wants to continue turning a blind eye to all this. The scope of the problem is way beyond his abilities. Won’t it be futile to try?

The anger and indignation on the streets are slowly simmering, but the shogun’s power is overwhelming. It’s the legacy of the Tokugawa clan that had turned Japan upside down all those decades ago.

These thoughts burn his chest, so Kakashi braves the cold and sits up. He pads out of his room, gently sliding the door shut. Maybe a refreshing stroll will give him the answers he needs. On the way out, he walks past the half-opened door of Hiruzen’s study and almost trips in surprise. The old man is sitting there, squinting at papers are strewn all over his desk, like nothing is out of the ordinary. He must have arrived before dawn.

“Come in,” Hiruzen says after Kakashi has paused a moment too long. Kakashi pushes the door aside and ambles in.

“How was your trip?” he asks, sitting down across the table.

“Not bad,” Hiruzen replies. “It was longer than I expected.” Kakashi knows that Hiruzen has as many secrets as his father did, so he doesn’t pry. Instead, he lets his eyes roam inquisitively across the papers on the table, assuming that Hiruzen wouldn’t have been reading classified documents with his door half-open. It takes a moment for him to realise he was wrong. The largest piece of paper is a plan of a building that looks suspiciously like Edo castle. Kakashi feels as if he’d walked into a trap.

“Did something catch your eye?” Hiruzen asks, amused. He gets up to rifle through the books on the shelf near the door.

“No,” Kakashi says. “Nothing interesting here at all. Isn’t the weather nice today? I was just about to take a–” He uncrosses his legs and pushes off the ground, trying to beat a hasty retreat. It’s too early in the morning to be embroiled in a treasonous plot.

“Now, now. Don’t be so impatient,” Hiruzen chuckles. He’s next to Kakashi in a moment, a thin book tucked under one arm. Under the guise of a friendly pat on the shoulder, he pushes Kakashi back down with inhuman strength. He really isn’t just a simple inn owner. “I heard that you and Jiraiya have been reminiscing about the past. There is much more yet that I must tell you.”

“About my father?” Kakashi asks.

“Yes, and his affiliations,” Hiruzen says. 

“Isn’t that top secret?” Kakashi asks, pushing his curiosity to the back of his mind. It is sounding suspiciously like a recruitment drive. “It’s not something you should tell outsiders. I’ll go now, and I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s impossible,” Hiruzen shakes his head. “You know too much already. And we need your help.”

“Do I get a choice?”

“Not unless you count death,” Hiruzen says, his black pupils boring into Kakashi. Then he huffs a small laugh. “That was a joke. Listen to what your father and the rest of us have worked for over the years. You can still choose to leave after that.”

“We are a network,” Hiruzen begins sombrely, “formed of several hundred rōnin that are dissatisfied with the Confucian class system. There have been many subtle actions carried out,” Kakashi is sure that it’s a euphemism for assassination. “But never overt ones. The younger members are more outspoken, and the government has started investigating. Only the gods know how we’ve evaded notice until now. The shogun has a few of our contacts in custody… It’s only a matter of time before we’re done for good.”

“The situation sounds rather dire,” Kakashi says.

“It is,” Hiruzen says. “Most of us are old people who’ve been fighting for our cause for decades. I suppose we have gotten careless.”

“And now, you’re planning something big,” Kakashi deliberates.

“Yes,” Hiruzen smiles approvingly. “We might as well act first before they can gather enough evidence to deliver their punishment. There will be a coup next week, Kakashi-kun. We need all the help we can get.” Hiruzen’s expression is resolute.

 “A coup?” Kakashi raises an eyebrow and glances quickly at the castle map. It’s huge, heavily fortified, and the winding hallways can contain a small army. “How many people are involved?”

“About a hundred in total,” Hiruzen says. There is a flatness in his smile. “There are some talented warriors among us who can fight like ten men. But of course, that’s nothing to a prodigy like you." 

Kakashi pauses. “That’s not enough to fight the castle’s forces.” It’s a suicide mission, he wants to say, but that much is obvious.

“It’s enough to distract the shogun’s army. At the very least, we will have time to kill the target officials,” Hiruzen says. “In the end, it’s up to you, Kakashi-kun. You shouldn’t throw away your life for this old man’s ideals, but your strength might be what we need to succeed…”

Kakashi weighs the implications in his head. To Hiruzen, this may be his final contribution to his friends and the people in Japan. But Kakashi isn’t so benevolent.

“I see,” Kakashi says slowly. “I’ll think about it.” He excuses himself.

Hiruzen lets him go with a wave and motions for Kakashi to shut the door behind him.

Kakashi’s feet carry him to the kitchen, where the fresh, sweet smell of rice porridge is cloying. It’s simmering over the fire, steam rising softly to the ceiling. Iruka looks up from where he’s squatting, shelling immature soybeans into a clay pot. His face breaks into a smile brighter than the gentle light streaming in through the open door.

“Good morning,” Iruka says. Kakashi forgets himself for a moment.

“…Good morning,” he replies.

“That’s been cooking all night,” Iruka says, tilting his head towards the porridge. “It should be good to eat now.”

Kakashi casts a distracted smile at Iruka, trying in vain to push out the heavy thoughts from earlier, and pours himself a bowl of porridge. He eats quickly and leaves the inn as soon as he can.

 

There is a hill south of Edo with knee-high grass that has yellowed under the heat of summer. There are still remnants of fog cloaking the distant horizon, but Kakashi can see the ocean from his vantage point on the branch. Waves roll to shore in thin lines, the constant background sound of undulating waves inaudible for the first time in the last two weeks. Instead, the sound of the rustling grass waxes and wanes with the wind.

The scenery of coarse, golden grass and the sparkling waters serve as a backdrop to his previously buried memories. He is digging them out now, forcing himself to look.

There was Obito, killed by his master after a boulder crippled him. In the past, employers had to support the families of their deceased samurai, but Obito’s parents weren’t given a single cent in remuneration. They were members of a very insignificant branch of the Uchiha clan. They had been struggling just to eat since Obito’s father was injured on duty.

The whole Uchiha clan was slaughtered by the shogunate for fear of the power they wielded. It was the same thing that could’ve happened to the Hatake clan if the successive battles at the end of the Sengoku period hadn’t wiped out most of their power.

Rin and Kakashi wanted to take revenge somehow… but Minato took them away before they could rush to their deaths. And yet she died anyway, killed for refusing the advances of a rich, disgusting merchant. 

Walking day after day with Minato, he’d had plenty of time to reflect, but he chose to bury everything away. Minato-sensei, the pacifist that he was, wanted to spread kindness and joy. But Kakashi was only living in denial.

He’ll join the coup, whatever the consequence. It’ll be penance for forgetting their pain.

 

Kakashi sits there till noon, then jumps off to stretch his legs. When he starts walking back to Konoha, he spots a familiar figure hiking towards him, previously obscured by the swell of the hill. Even from afar, Kakashi knows that gait, that self-effacing smile. Iruka’s kimono is blown by the wind, pressed flush against his body. Kakashi’s steps falter. He stops walking and simply watches as Iruka approaches carrying a large food basket. 

“Hey,” Iruka calls out. He looks refreshed, the baby hairs on his temple floating in the wind. A normal man would be panting at that pace, but Iruka crosses the distance like a breeze. It’s not the first time Kakashi wonders just who Iruka is, because it’s obvious that he is not a simple servant. Hiruzen seems to trust him with a lot of things and, though he acts subservient, Kakashi gets the feeling that it’s just an act. In fact, the dynamic in the inn is strange. People of various classes speak as equals… as if they were comrades.

Iruka is in front of Kakashi now, an easy smile gracing his face. “Let’s eat under the tree,” he says, tugging gently at Kakashi’s sleeve. Warmth suffuses Kakashi’s chest. He follows mutely, smiling.

They sit under the dappled shade of the tree, and Kakashi watches as Iruka unpacks the basket. The topmost compartment reveals enough rice for two, still warm to the touch. There are two pickled plums pressed into the centre. The second compartment has a few grilled fish, their skin gleaming with oil. It’s a common lunch in Edo, but Kakashi eyes it hungrily. It’s something that Iruka brought especially for Kakashi.

Iruka pulls two bowls and chopsticks out of his bag, and they quickly tuck in. The conversation flits from one topic to the next. The air is warm and humid, but they sit too close to each other, knees brushing. The golden grasses, clear skies, and sparkling oceans all slip past Kakashi’s consciousness.  He’s looking at Iruka, whose tanned skin and translucent eyes are gleaming with a tinge of gold under the afternoon sun.

The food is gone before they know it, and the sun is slowly descending. Iruka’s face is in the shadow, and Kakashi just listens to him talk about his childhood in the rowhouses.

“Mm… so, what do you really do for Sarutobi-san?” Kakashi asks when the conversation pauses, only vaguely aware that he’s breaching a sensitive topic. Something in the air is fogging up his senses, lulling him to a comfortable state somewhere between a coma and wakefulness. His words come out unfiltered, and Iruka seems just as relaxed as he is.

But Iruka is silent for a long moment. The fog disappears into some invisible vacuum. Kakashi comes back to his senses so quickly that it leaves him momentarily dizzy.

“I’m really just an inn worker,” Iruka says softly. “But sometimes I do other things like scouting out places, charting guard rotations, and all that. I draw maps, too.”

“The map of Edo Castle… Was it your work?”

Iruka nods. Kakashi stares at him, eyebrows raised. He didn’t have time to examine it, but the map looked very detailed, with annotations on most rooms and some paths highlighted.

“That took a few months of preparations,” Iruka says. “I had to work as a palace worker and pretend to be lost a few times.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling. 

Sneaking around the closely-guarded Edo Castle requires a tremendous amount of stealth and luck. Iruka is definitely playing down his efforts. The danger involved and the complexity of the task… Kakashi sees the man in front of him in a new light. He feels himself inferior for once. He has talent and brute strength, but the few times he had fought with his life on the line, he’d fought with the confidence that he would win. It’s nothing compared to the risk of living on enemy territory, toe to toe with people who’ll kill you if they knew who you are. 

“I’m joining the coup,” Kakashi says.

“Hiruzen-sama told me you might,” Iruka frowns. “Though, I wish you wouldn’t,” he mutters, barely loud enough for Kakashi to hear. Now Kakashi remembers that the two of them often sit in Hiruzen’s study in the late mornings, playing Go and chatting warmly. Nothing about their interactions suggests a master-servant relationship.

“Are you fighting too?” Kakashi asks. 

“No… I’m not so good at that. I’ll just be a hindrance.”

Kakashi is silently relieved. “Then you’re leaving Edo?”

“I’m not,” Iruka states. Kakashi is speechless for a moment. That had been a rhetorical question.

“Why not?” he asks. “Right after the coup, there will be a purge. Sarutobi-san has no family. The workers at the inn will probably be the first target.”

“I know that,” Iruka says.

“Then, why?”

“I may be just a servant, but I know at least a few things about honour,” Iruka spells out slowly, irritation giving an edge to his words. He looks at Kakashi with a stubborn set in his jaw. It seems like a topic he’s fought about before. 

“Life and death have nothing to do with honour,” Kakashi says bluntly.

“But you’re a samurai, aren’t you?” Iruka asks, incredulous. The insinuation is clear: plenty of samurai will gladly die for honour. It’s in the job description.

“People think badly of you for a while,” Kakashi shrugs, “but you’ll still be alive when they forget about you. There’s no need to die to prove your worth.” The truth is, it’s years of musing about his father’s pointless death that brought Kakashi to this conclusion.

“Alright, it’s not honour,” Iruka says. “Still, I can’t save my own skin when the people I care about are rushing to their deaths.”

“So, you’d rather die together?” Kakashi asks. Iruka is principled and stubborn. Kakashi is struggling trying to think of an argument that’ll refute Iruka’s.

“Yes."

“But that’ll be a pointless death." 

“I have lived in this inn my whole life,” Iruka says, his expression resolute. “Everyone in it is my family. What’s wrong with chasing them to the afterlife?”

“You’ll meet them eventually, right?” Kakashi’s reaching for the scant details of the afterlife he’d learnt as a child. He had never been a very spiritual person. “You only have this one life, but you’ll have the afterlife forever. 

“I heard that the spirit world is big. If we get separated, who knows if we’ll ever meet again…”

The conversation meanders until it’s almost dark and they’ve made their way back to the inn. As a samurai, Kakashi had never been afraid of death. His life is just that unpredictable. But Iruka doesn’t need to follow all these hot-headed men to their deaths. He can still live a good life with people who care about him.

Their conversation comes to an awkward stop as they enter the inn. Iruka’s room is behind the kitchen and Kakashi’s is down the hallway. Kakashi feels reluctant to let Iruka go, and so he latches on to anything that’ll keep him around.

“I want to have tea in my room,” he says. “Let’s continue the conversation there.” Kakashi had only meant to suggest the idea, but his statement came out like an order. “I’ll go brew it,” he says quickly, shuffling to the kitchen without a backward glance. He goes straight to filling a pot with clean water from a wooden tub.

“Let me do it,” Iruka says, grabbing the pot out of his hands. Kakashi is relieved. He only knew that tea is made by steeping tea leaves in hot water, but nothing besides that detail.

Iruka moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, first boiling the pot of water, then leaving it to cool down. He soaks the leaves in cold water for a few seconds and watches as they soften. Then Kakashi forgets to memorise the steps. Instead, he gazes absently at Iruka’s fingers, the way his wrist bends as he tips cold water out of the pot.

All of that flies out of his mind as soon as they leave the kitchen. Iruka leads the way, explaining something about the perfect temperature for brewing tea. They’re in Kakashi’s room in no time, sitting at a corner of the table. The tea is fragrant, soaking into his lungs. Iruka is silent as he breathes in the steam rising from his cup of tea. Kakashi observes him out of the corner of his eye. Iruka’s kimono is the colour of burnt sienna, with short sleeves that stop just above his wrists. His hakama pools around his legs as he sits languidly with his legs crossed. Kakashi thinks he cuts a handsome silhouette. He feels himself oozing with an inexplicable emotion at the sight. Iruka looks magnetic, with his eyes half-closed, savouring the warmth of the tea. 

So Kakashi draws closer to him. With measured breaths and a quickening heartbeat, Kakashi puts his cup down on the table and turns to face Iruka.

Now he feels at a loss to convey the thoughts clamouring in his head. He thinks of a few sentences and discards them immediately. Meanwhile, he stares owlishly at Iruka, who turns and regards him with surprise, at first.

“Iruka,” Kakashi says, deliberately dropping the honorific. Iruka puts his cup down with a clack, his expression smoothing out. He gazes warmly at Kakashi. 

“Kakashi,” Iruka replies. The warmth and familiarity in his voice makes Kakashi shiver. Iruka shifts in his seat. The rustling of his clothes scratches at Kakashi’s chest.

It seems that they’ve said all they needed to say. Iruka gets up on his knees and shuffles closer. The light of the lamps makes a halo around his head, but his face is in the shadow. He reaches out a calloused hand and gently unties Kakashi’s eyepatch.

Kakashi leans up and tugs on the nape of Iruka’s neck. He pulls the other man down for a gentle kiss.

Iruka’s lips are warm, damp and slightly bitter from the tea. There’s grilled mackerel in his breath, too, but Kakashi quickly stops noticing.  Iruka rests his arms on Kakashi’s shoulders, pressing down a little harder into the kiss. Kakashi feels electricity shooting through his brain. His hair stands on end. He wants to be even closer to Iruka.

The kiss deepens. Kakashi’s other hand is grabbing onto the cloth on Iruka’s back, pulling tightly, losing himself in the feeling of kissing Iruka.

A long time passes before they extricate themselves from each other’s clutches. It doesn’t feel enough. Kakashi goes in for a second kiss before Iruka stops him with a hand on his chest. Under the warm hand, his heart beats a stuttering staccato.

Iruka takes Kakashi’s hands in his. His hands are larger, rougher in some places.

“Let’s move,” he says. Then he lets go. Iruka pushes himself off the ground and stretches out a hand to Kakashi. They walk together to the other side of the screens, towards the futon. There’s a mutual understanding of what they’re about to do. Kakashi feels his blood simmering with excitement.

Kakashi sits down first while Iruka walks around the room, blowing out all but two of the lamps. Cross-legged on the futon, he watches Iruka return to his side, eyes burning into Kakashi’s skin.

Iruka pulls at his belt as he walks, deftly unravelling the ties around his stomach. He lets the hakama drop, leaving a short kimono to hang loosely on his body. The linen cloth of the kimono comes down to the middle of his thighs, revealing most of his muscular legs. Kakashi’s eyes rove over him hungrily.

It’s barely an hour after sunset, but it feels like midnight to Kakashi. It has been a long day and all he wants is Iruka.

They go slow at first, teasing each other with barely-scratched desires. Iruka’s warm hands graze his skin as he pulls the kimono off Kakashi’s shoulders. Kakashi returns the favour, watching as Iruka's kimono falls quietly onto the ground.

In the half-light, Iruka’s skin is glowing. Kakashi touches the soft skin of his stomach, then lets his hand travel up Iruka’s warm back. He feels the swell and dip of every muscle. He takes his time savouring every detail of Iruka’s body.

They kiss again, the mingling breaths hot on their faces. Kakashi’s eyes are shut now. Iruka’s skin is searing hot wherever it touches his. The sex is hot and fast, and it feels as if they're melting into each other. Kakashi has had better sex, but Iruka feels like a soothing balm to Kakashi. He's never felt so comfortable with anyone else.

When they’re done, Kakashi lowers himself onto Iruka’s chest, panting. Iruka hooks his arm around Kakashi’s neck, and they lie in a loose embrace, catching their breaths. Kakashi’s rational mind slowly returns to him.

It’s a while later before Iruka finally pushes the pliant Kakashi off to find a towel. He braves the cold, giving them both a quick wipe before trying, without much success, to mop up some of their mess that has dripped onto the linen cover of the bedding. Sighing, he tosses the towel aside and tucks them both inside the futon, his cold skin quickly warming up. Kakashi falls asleep easily, the troubles from the morning all but forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! :) 
> 
> And also, sorry I can't bring myself to write smut ahaha I tried skimming over the sex as fast as I could.


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